4/26/2013

Today's Special: Hot and Spicy Spam

Normally, I wouldn't make a sandwich, especially a magick one, with Spam. It's a scourge for blogs, necessitating moderation of every last comment. I used to be so happy that a reader, even one with wobbly English, had taken the time to write...and then I'd get to the sales pitch for a sex toy or an Indian escort service. (I assume rubber genitalia are easier to get through Customs.) Needless to say, the thrill is gone.

Spam emails aren't much fun, either. But this morning, I got a good one from Mr. Bongaki Khonu* who needs me "to receive $18.720M and we will discuss what we both stand to benefit." Once I have the money, what does he think he's going to get from me, the zero at the end of the millions? What's that for, anyway? What a sucker! The money "belongs to my late client who has the same last name with you." (Note to self: Change last name to Undisclosed-Recipients.) "He passed away five years ago in a boat disaster." This really hooks me. It's so vague in its specificity. It could mean anything from drowning in the bilge water on a Carnival cruise to losing a high stakes game of Battleship.

I was already planning to buy a solid gold toilet when I opened this gem, titled "Sleep with 6 girls in the next 6 days...guaranteed!" Now this is some Hot and Spicy Spam.

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Scientists at Harvad University have discovered a strange secret that allows you to control women's minds. And make them want to sleep with you. 

Women worldwide are OUTRAGED because they trusted the scientists to use their research for good...

But instead they have discovered the secret to making women horney and attracted to you

Click Here to Discover the Secret

And then use the scientists' discoveries to get chicks into your bed.
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Those frigging scientists. We should have known they wouldn't use their powers for good. How else are they going to get laid...by curing world hunger? I don't think so. (And shame on you if you clicked that link. Now get back to work.)


*name changed


3/26/2013

Sandwich Fixins #9

 When I can't stand the clutter in the fridge, I bring you another serving of sandwich fixins.

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What's the warranty on an exorcism? 

*****

I'm sad that Hugo Chavez' body was too decomposed to be preserved and displayed like Lenin. It means no one will ever be able to break into his glass casket and dress him in crotchless panties.

*****
 
Why do pickles say "Refrigerate After Opening?"

*****

People who love pigeons should be forced to feed them worms and grubs. Do they just assume the birds prefer stale bread, with all those carbs and gluten?  Why isn't PETA on this?

*****

Could Lois Lane get cancer from Superman's X-ray vision? 

*****

If tombstones are our final caption, I'd like mine to read "Ask me about alternative medicine." Or maybe "Incurable romantic." I also like "This isn't my gum." I can't decide. Maybe I could pay people to let me carve things onto their dead loved ones' gravestones. That could work.



Fixins Archive:
Sandwich Fixins #8
Sandwich Fixins #7
Sandwich Fixins #6

3/16/2013

Google, Come Back!

Google, why won't you call? I've tried so hard to make you love me. I study everything you want me to: Page Rank, Author Rank, Adsense, AdWords, Analytics--the list goes on and on. Yet I'm still confused. You must be nice since you like penguins and pandas. So why aren't we in Sync?

You stalked me with your Street View car and took an awful picture of me while stealing my neighbors' WiFi data. I was a little flattered, though I wish I'd had time to freshen up. Then you swore it was a rogue buddy who'd done it and taught me that without a password, we're all just asking for it. But lately I feel like I'm the only one putting any effort into this relationship.

No fooling- Google my address and you'll see me.
Are you trying to cut me off from my friends by dumping Google Reader? How long until you further isolate me by killiing Feedburner? You say I should concentrate on Google+ but how can I trust you when I never hear from Buzz anymore? And you couldn't let me have my pretty little iGoogle. Is it all about youGoogle?

What else must I do, Google? I love you and fear your displeasure. You know everything about me. Everything. So please, Google, unencrypt your heart.